


Twisted Helix

by ElevenGaleStorms



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bleeding Effect, Child!Reader - Freeform, Dark!Arno, Dark!Evie, Dark!Haytham, Dark!Jacob, Dark!Shay, F/F, F/M, Helix Research Analyst!Reader, Initiate!Reader, Multi, Napoleonic Wars, Open requests, Reader-Insert, Reader-centric, Soldier!Arno, Warning for very likely creepiness, disjointed writing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-26
Updated: 2018-11-27
Packaged: 2019-01-03 23:24:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 19,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12156912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElevenGaleStorms/pseuds/ElevenGaleStorms
Summary: #1: Hunted I, "A lowly Helix research analyst you were, and yet somewhere along the way of joining Otso Berg’s team he manifested. Shay Cormac.", Dark!Shay Cormac x Reader#2: Nebulaphobia I. "Just leave me alone," you gritted out as an onslaught of memories assaulted your mind. "Now why would I do that?" Arno Dorian whispered into your ear. Dark!Arno x Reader#3: Nebulaphobia II. "I don't like to share," His hood did nothing to hide his amber eyes as an unholy look entered them. You took a step back in nervousness. Suddenly, your subject of research seemed a whole lot more real. Dark!Arno x Reader#4: Hunter I. Your- no his work sent the Assassins into a panic. And thus you had a choice. Live or die... You always were selfish. Shay Cormac x Reader#5: Caught in between I. You had the misfortune of being a descendant of both Arno Dorian and Shay Cormac. When that particular fact about your ancestors comes to light, you have to deal with the choice of being an Assassin or a Templar. Or perhaps, a certain organization will be more suited for yourself. Shay Cormac x Reader x Arno Dorian





	1. Hunted I

You took a shuddering breath against your hand clasped tightly against your mouth. Your heart beat fast like a hummingbird.

“Come on out, little bird.” You shut your eyes tightly. Footsteps could be heard coming closer and closer until…

They stopped.

You tensed as you knew what was to come.

The outcome of the hunt had just been decided.

As you closed your eyes for what would be the final time, you could only think about the events that lead to this very moment.

This nightmare.

A lowly Helix research analyst you were, and yet somewhere along the way of joining Otso Berg’s team he manifested.

Shay Cormac.

Legendary Assassin Hunter and Master Templar.

It could have started when you touched that damn artifact in the Precursor Temple, but something caused him to manifest in the same way as the Isu did.

Although, he was alive in a sense. Something about him was…

Twisted.

“This is all your fault you know,” his accented voice rang all too clear in your ears, “You just had to open Pandora’s box.”

“W-What?” You couldn’t help but stutter out. There was no use in hiding your location now. From the moment you ran away from the corpses of his most recent victims, you knew that there was little to no chance you would escape.

“My emotions,” Shay Cormac explained.

“You don’t have any.” You stated, whether to convince yourself or him was unknown.

The darkness of your ‘hiding’ place was soon banished away by light as the door of the storage closet were swung open.

You averted your eyes from the sudden change in brightness. A dark figure bathed in the harsh light came closer.

You pressed yourself against the wall in a meek attempt towards freedom.

Shay leaned closer as he suddenly felt very real with his warm breath caressing the shell of your ear, “I can assure you that I do-” An idle finger brushed lightly against your bare throat, “-feel such things, lass.”

You finally brought yourself to look into his eyes. Pitch black, they were. Those eyes were almost emotionless if looked at from a distance. But you had no such luck. The darkness in his eyes told stories of betrayal, war, and loss.

But they also reflected something.

“I wish you could see what I saw when I looked at you,” A melancholic look filled his eyes, “You were just a tool, something to be disposed of. And I...just couldn’t allow that to happen. You understand, don’t you?” You tensed at the sudden change in his mood. A wild look of… something made you look down at the crimson cross on the buckle secured across his chest.

“You’re the only one who knows the truth.” he continued.

“I-”

You didn’t have the chance to finish your statement as gas filled the space you occupied.

The last thing you saw was the dark eyes of Shay Patrick Cormac.


	2. Nebulaphobia I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for very likely creepiness.

Your world was a bleary mix of the past and present. Figures of smoke, with wisps of their forms trailing behind them, clouded your vision in their unbreakable haze. You blindly reached out a hand to stop this…

Madness.

Just as you began to resign yourself to having to deal with the madness around you, your hand met soft fabric.

Your eyes trailed up the blue fabric and saw amber eyes looking unreadably at you.

“Y-you!” you stuttered out. It was him.

Arno Dorian.

“I am pleased to meet you, Initiate,” Arno Dorian paused in thought for a moment before adding, “I suppose that is what you call your allegiance to, isn’t it so?”

You numbly nodded your head at the French revolutionary. Your body was tense and ready to flee at a moment’s notice. Still, a part of you knew that it would be impossible to escape. It was the unexplainable instinct prey had when its inevitable doom that came in the form of the predator came closer and closer...

“Are you scared of me?” A smirk appeared on his lips; the hood did nothing to conceal the smugness of it.

It seemed that arrogance was something this hallucination created by the Bleeding Effect had in common with the actual Arno Dorian.

Your silence provided him with no answer, and he continued, “You should be.”

“You are just a hallucination. A mere memory.”

“Yet memories hold meaning, a part of the soul if you will.”

“...”

“I have brought men to their very knees with their mind torn apart, and sanity ripped away from them,” Arno’s fingers lightly pushed your chin to face him, “So tell me, why shouldn’t I do the same with you?”

The amber specks in his eyes seemed to glow almost, and his memories 'bleeded' into yours.

_“Elise!”_

_“Hurry up, Pisspot.”_

"Just leave me alone," you gritted out as an onslaught of memories assaulted your mind. "Now why would I do that?" Arno Dorian whispered into your ear.

Shutting your eyes, you looked away from those amber eyes and shoved him away. You stumbled back before regaining your balance.

The man-no ghost in front of you laughed in its vindictive delight, “Oh, you are certainly most amusing, _moi inité_ ,” His chuckles gave away to a slight smirk, “I think I will keep you around.”

His words seemed to echo before everything began to melt away to white. The smoky forms and haze gave away to that of pure, innocent white…

And then you woke up.

“Are you okay, Initiate?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.” The lie quickly slipped past your lips.

 _Liar_ , a familiar voice said amusedly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To be honest, I'm surprised that this story got so many kudos for such a short chapter. Anyway, if you want a certain scenario involving Helix Analyst or Initiate!Reader with either Shay or Arno, please let me know. I like filling requests, and I have some spare time this week to write more than usual. Anyway, I just wanted to tell you that. Thanks for reading!


	3. Nebulaphobia II

You sighed and leaned your chair back precariously. It had been a long and intensive session, finishing up the research of Arno Dorian’s memories. And to think that your work as an Initiate working under the Brotherhood was only just beginning with a new assignment having just been alerted to you.

Evie and Jacob Frye.

Admittedly, you were excited to have another chance at actually looking into the raw, unfiltered past. Something… felt off.

Your leg propped itself against the desk, and one miscalculated movement sent you tumbling onto the floor and into darkness soon enough.

_“Bonjour.”_

A few choice words that weren’t quite French were directed at one Arno Dorian. 

* * *

 “What do you want?” you said bluntly. Your now former subject of research was walking around you with the stance of a predator.

“So you decided to move onto ‘better pastures’ as you Americans say,” Arno walked closer to her with an odd look in his eyes, “I must say that I am quite hurt. It is not every day that I find someone so… amusing.”

“You can stop playing the innocent act,” You, for once, stared at him straight into the eyes on your own volition, “I know what you are.”

“A monster?” The smug grin played on his lips once again.

“A bitter old man,” you smirked. The mildly surprised expression on Arno Dorian’s face was worth it.

“Ah, you truly do know the words that hurt.” he chuckled briefly before the somehow not bitter smile faded.

“Just go away.”

“No,” He vaguely looked like a stubborn child, “You should know one thing about me.”

“And what is that?” your tone most likely gave away your unenthusiasm. Honestly, you did not want to know more about Arno Dorian, then you already knew. You had researched the man’s memories, wasn’t that enough?

The smoky form of Arno’s hand had suddenly found its way around the back of your neck. The familiar angle made you tense realize one thing:

He could activate his hidden blade and kill you now.

Although, he never tried that before, for whatever reason. The possibility remained, and you didn’t know what would happen.

Would you go into a coma and become a vegetable?

The increased pressure of his grip served as a reminder...

Remember who is in control here.

Suddenly, Arno released your neck, “I am not particularly fond of neighbors.”

You almost laughed at the sheer absurdity of it all. There was a long-dead man getting-you didn’t even know what to call it- possessive in his own twisted way over you.

“Tell that to my boss.”

“Perhaps, I will.” On second thought, maybe your comment on that was a bad idea. The idea of Bishop and Arno meeting was… just unthinkable.

“Ah, I almost forgot to tell you,” He leaned to whisper into your ear, “I don’t like to share.”

Before you could say a word, the man was gone along with the world of smoke you found yourself in.

You sighed. How were you going to explain to Bishop that you couldn't take the Fryes for your research now?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I sound selfish for asking this, but could anyone give me any feedback on my other story, Ouroboros? I'm doing a lot of planning for the prequel of that, and it would very nice to have some feedback so I can improve. Anyway, I apologize if I am annoying you with this. The next chapter should come soon. Thanks for reading!


	4. Nebulaphobia III

The Fryes were more physical in their touches and even ‘taking control’ briefly every so often.

Compared to them, Arno seemed to be somewhat pleasant to be around with his more passive way of interacting with you as an amused observer.

You wished that you could have come up with a better excuse not to research the Fryes. Ultimately, though, it was you who made the decision.

You just couldn’t resist another chance at glimpsing the past.

 “Well, hello, love.” That accented masculine voice could of course be…

Jacob Frye.

“I’m trying to work,” you said over your shoulder, not even bothering to glance at Jacob Frye’s smoky form behind you.

“Leave her alone, Jacob. She knows how to work efficiently, unlike someone I know.” The familiar yet feminine voice was of course…

Evie Frye.

“You simply do not know how to have fun, sister of mine.”

“Is your defini-” You abruptly shut the lid of your laptop. Trying to write about your research when your two subjects were bickering right in front of you... was odd.

It had been several days, and you still haven’t gotten used to the double trouble called the Frye Twins.

You somehow managed to escape the attention of the bickering two and slipped out the room.

“I warned you,” Arno Dorian’s eyes were impassive as he stared at you from across the room, “Researching those brats would cause only trouble and yet you decided not to heed my warnings.”

“I didn’t have a choice-” You didn’t know what happened next, only that Arno had a hand wrapped around your throat. But his grip…

It wasn’t tight.

A warning, the rational part of you concluded.

“You have no idea what they are capable of.” Arno tsked, “It is common sense not to invite wolves into your home...”

“Do you want me to beat your arse bloody, old man?” Your eyes widened. Please don’t have that be-

“Because I will gladly do so.”

“Oh, please Jacob,” You sighed in relief. Evie was here and could get her brother to be-

“Save some for me.”

Only one thought ran through your mind:

You really should have listened to Arno.

* * *

  **JackjackjackjackallYOURfault.**

**You laid there helpless with someone whispering into your ears that it was over and that they were here.**

**That you should be okay.**

**A laugh threatened to burst from your lips.**

**You were not fine-**

**_K_ IL _L_ _H_ i _M-_**

Bile rose in your throat as the haze-filled world you found yourself in receded and with it came reality.

Or perhaps not…

It was getting hard to tell sometimes-

“The frog was right, love.” Jacob Frye was smiling with his twin echoing a similar expression, “Don’t invite wolves into your home.”

He leaned closer to her with a hint of familiar madness in his eyes, something both broken and fragmented.

“For they will eat you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is more of an experimental chapter because of the fact that I have never written the Fryes before. Any constructive criticism on their characterization would be more than welcome. Anyway, I apologize if my characterization of the Fryes is cringy in this chapter. Thanks for reading!


	5. Nebulaphobia IV

You bit back a scream as the Templar jerked the knife embedded in your hand. The sharp metal ripped into your flesh, like a hungry beast.

Your breathing labored and hitched in pain, yet you remained quiet.

Don't say anything, Bishop had ordered.

And you would.

Yet why couldn't the tears stop welling up in your eyes and the lead weight on your chest pressed and pressed until...

you couldn't breathe-

" _Calmez-vous._ " Your world was a bleary world of tendrils of smoke exploring the room.

A broken laugh erupted out of your lips.

Calm yourself?

The hysterical laughter was cut off by the sudden jerk of the knife.

Oh, yes. You must have looked insane.

But isn't everyone insane?

You felt yourself get jerked upwards by your hair and thrown in front of a container. The water in front of you sloshed with its dark depths staring at you in the face.

You didn't resist when the man chained your hands to both sides of the tub.

"La raison du plus fort est toujours la meilleure." Tendrils of navy blue smoke consisting of a familiar form brushed lightly against your clammy skin.

And then you plunged into the icy water. The liquid bit viciously your bruised skin in its cold embrace.

As your lungs began to burn and vision blurred, you made a decision.

La raison du plus fort est toujours la meilleure.

The restraints must have been fairly weak as you rattled and tugged against the chains with an increased fervency until something inside of you broke.

Your body convulsed, and hands began clawing at the metal changing you to your watery prison.

At that very moment, something inside of you snapped, and you weren't you.

No, you were Jacob Frye.

And the next thing you knew was of breaking the restraints and slamming the metal cuffs into the guard's head.

Your knee jabbed into the man's back, and you forced his head into the water.

**_KIll HIM._ **

A part of you morbidly wondered how long a man could survive underwater as your captive squirmed and jerked wildly.

'Why not find out?' A part of you whispered. Or was that Jacob?

You didn't know...

Your tormenter's body jerked.

Once.

Twice.

Thrice.

And then...

Done.

Like a puppet without strings, the man fell limp with the only occasional twitch. You, or rather Jacob, held the head for several seconds before letting the body slump to the floor.

And just like your victim, you too fell like a masterless puppet.

On your knees with hair blissfully clouding the sight of what you had just done, you kneeled there.

Crisp navy blue smoke with brown tendrils covered your eyes.

Yet you could still see.

No matter what, these hands cannot blind you to your sins.

And neither could it blind the world of your tears.

But that was okay.

Everyone in the room was dead.


	6. Nebulaphobia V

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Instead of saying a warning about how this is creepy, I think you should know that this chapter is odd or weird to say the least. So... warning for weirdness. If anyone is still okay with that, then feel free to read the chapter.

The achingly familiar presence of Jacob could still be felt at the back of your mind, no matter what you already drank several bottles worth of alcohol.

“It won’t help.”

“Then nothing can.”

“It is almost pitiful,” You didn’t dare look at the space next to you, already knowing who you would find there, “To see the loss of your naivety.”

“Yeah, I figured you would think that way,” A bitter chuckle escaped your lips, “All you think of me is as some little puppet for your own amusement.”

“Even puppeteers wish to see their puppets dance though.”

“I wonder what she would think of you,” you whispered, something inside of you was free, “Seeing you now like this, a monster.”

“We are beings of our own making.” The look in those amber eyes told a different story than the indifference shown by Arno Dorian.

“Yet our circumstances define us as well.” You argued back.

 “Have you ever wondered why I became like this?” His grin widened, deranged and knowing, "A monster.“

“Her death.” The faux smile remained on his face.

“No, it started before that,” An odd look filled Arno’s eyes, “Out of all people, you would know.”

“What are you-”

“Think, Initiate.” What-

Wait...

Did he mean that odd glitch?

“Don’t tell me...”

“You are not the first one to dance the lines of madness.” His eyes slid over to your own with a contemplating look in them, “And you will not be the last.”

“But that was a glitch. No one could-”

“I do not understand your generation. You and others throw yourselves at something I can only deem as a living hell.”

At that moment, you realized one thing:

Arno had been warning you.

All those threats and taunts you received were reminders of what would become of you if you continue on your path.

“You knew...” you averted your eyes from staring at the hazy form of Arno. The smoke curled and shifted yet still clung tightly to make up his form.

“Yes, I have played the role of a messenger,” the French Assassin paused, “Now, I must play a different role now.”

You couldn’t bring yourself to be surprised at his words and the implications behind them.

It was all a game to him, after all.

“What are you?” you couldn’t help ask, with morbid curiosity underlining the question.

“Whatever you call me. A ghost. A spirit,” Arno Dorian leaned closer to you. Wisps of smoke brushed against the suddenly cold skin of your cheeks, “Or perhaps, even a mirage or delusion.”

A smile of sorts spread across his lips, “How amusing would it be for you find out that your tormentors were yourself.”

“You-”

“Let’s play a game.” Arno Dorian said suddenly.

“No.” You replied tersely, not even bothering to hide the fact that you were talking to a dead person.

Or rather an echo of the past.

“Come on, Initiate,” The man thankfully leaned back with his arm languidly resting against the bar, “Play our little game.”

You gritted your teeth. Something was off with him… like that time with the Fryes and he held your neck.

You did not want him being like that again.

So, you would play.

But no one said you had to abide by the rules.

Sadly, you did not realize then that it was not what Arno Dorian was reacting to, but rather who.

Ignorance is bliss, as some would say.

And in this situation, it couldn't be truer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a feeling I went a bit to far with the Bleeding Effect here... oh well. I write a lot of weird stuff, so this isn't anything really new for me. Thanks for reading!


	7. Nebulaphobia VI

You resisted flinching at the man next to you puffing his cigar.

He breathed out clouds of smoke, which you tried to avoid subtly.

The smoking itself didn’t bother you.

No, it was the smoke.

It danced and dispersed in the crisp morning air, yet you found yourself always thinking that it would somehow condense into a form.

 _You’re going mad_ , a voice whispered to you, not unlike Arno Dorian.

“I think it’s called paranoia.” Neither was good either way. The only good news was that you were supposed to establish contact with Bishop again in three days.

Maybe you could tell her, and she would help-

The unaffected demeanor the female Assassin had when Rebecca got shot made you realize one thing:

BIshop was prepared to sacrifice.

A minor gear in a more significant machine such as yourself had no importance to her.

After all, you already served your purpose.

As you pondered this, you failed to notice yourself walking into the fog that had curled its fingers around the buildings of the town.

Your breath hitched minutely at the fog surrounding you. Your eyes scanned the white haze for any moving figures.

None.

Until you saw navy blue as well as black tendrils of smoke mixing with the haze.

As the fog brushed against your skin lightly with its airy vapor, you closed your eyes and counted to ten.

Because ten was good.

**Ten.**

You took one step, with one foot in front of the other. A shaky breath escaped your lungs with a hysterical laugh soon following closely behind.

**Nine.**

The gentle pressure on your throat was just your imagination.

_**Yesyespleaselethatme** _

**Eight.**

You were almost out of the fog just a few more steps…

**Seven.**

They were not here. They were only echoes of the past.

**Six.**

The fog was thinning and with it the rising pressure in your chest.

**Five.**

Your breathing began to calm, and your heart slowed.

**Four.**

Your steps grew more and more confident with each step and passing second.

**Three.**

Wisps of smoke danced and parted at your footsteps, yet you continued. They were not real, only illusions of your-fragmented, remember- mind.

**Two.**

A knawing presence could be felt at the back of your head, yet you could just not put your finger on who it was.

**One.**

“ _Bonjour_ ,” His voice was different, rougher and somehow accented differently like a dialect-

You turned slowly around with your eyes nearly closed shut in apprehension.

He was not Arno Dorian.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Long author's note
> 
> To be honest, I think this chapter is better than the last one. My writing is like a hit and miss. Either I get the right kind of 'creepy' in these chapters or I just write some plain weird chapters. Anyway, I apologize about the last chapter. I renamed 'Twisted' to 'Nebulaphobia' because I just the title would fit better ('Twisted' is already in the title of the story anyway). Also, I wanted to show that the protagonist was starting develop some fears as a result of the Bleeding Effect. By the way, if anyone is still interested in this, is there anything you would like to see in the next chapters? I would love to have some requests or suggestions. Also, I just wanted to say that I will reply to everyone's comments on here soon. This week is kind of stressful for me and I've only had the time to write these chapters late at night mostly, so I hope you understand the wait. Well, thanks for reading!
> 
> Also, here's some writing prompts that I've made for writing the Bleeding Effect (feel free to use them or request if you somehow happen to be interested.):
> 
> 1\. "I've just killed someone, and you are just smiling at me..."  
> 2\. "I'm talking to you like a normal person and everyone is shying way from me... except you."  
> 3\. "I called the police when I saw you stalking me yet I am the one sent to a mental hospital."  
> 4\. "I just saw you die, only to find you staring at me in the mirror..."  
> 5\. "Who is in control?"  
> 6\. "Go back to sleep."  
> 7\. "I am beginning to think that you show your affection by attacking people."  
> 8\. "I think you are starting to enjoy this..."  
> 9\. "I used to have nightmares of demonic possession... I don't anymore. You're worse."  
> 10\. "You literally made me invent a phobia."  
> 11\. "Learning the past is easy. Experiencing it is a whole different story."  
> 12\. "I see dead people, and no... not ghosts."


	8. Go back to sleep

There is a door in the white room at the end of the hallway in your home.

It has a shiny wooden surface.

But a thin layer of dust always covers it.

It always remained closed.

Because the person behind that door wouldn’t let anyone open it.

You were that person.

* * *

_**“-multiple personality disorder-research study-subject-”** Tommy looked down at you with bright blue eyes as you blinked blearily at him, mind foggy from sleep. His lips were frowning slightly._

_You didn’t like that._

_It never was good when Tommy got angry._

_He was always like that when Mother got upset about Tommy._

_“They can’t fix you,” he said gently with that weird accent of his. You stared eagerly at him, waiting to hear his solution. Tommy always knew how to fix something, “But...” Tommy shook his head, and his smile once again returned._

_“But what?” you almost whined._

_“That is something for another day,” Tommy’s hood shifted to obscure his eyes as his hand rested on your head reassuringly, “Go back to sleep.”_

_As Tommy sat beside your slumbering form, you failed to realize why exactly you were at the doctor’s and why they stuck that odd swab down your throat._

_But what you did notice was that Tommy was gone the next day._

_And he wouldn’t come back, until many years later._

* * *

You were in that room.

The wisps of smoke curled around you were ignored in favor of the words on your file in Abstergo’s database.

Natural Bleeding Effect.

You couldn’t help but chuckle. Something inside of you felt free…

“Tommy wasn’t imaginary. I wasn’t insane.”

And you laughed and laughed.

And

Just

Kept

On

Laughing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This may or may not be part of Nebulaphobia-verse. It's up to you on whether it is or isn't. Thanks for reading!


	9. Rest well [Shay Cormac x Reader]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for potentially disturbing things: Drowning, voices, etc.

One moment, you had been walking towards the sails to help get the boat moving… and the next you were sailing into the water with your very breath stolen. You felt your heart skip a beat and your treacherous mouth open in shock.

Unrelenting water mercilessly flooded into your mouth and your arms flailed to push you to the surface. The bittersweet air with its cold yet lifegiving essence relieved your burning lungs until it was snatched away by the wave.

“Come bac-!” You hollered to the retreating boat as you breached the surface once more. Your stomach dropped as the boat kept on moving away with no intention of stopping.

It could have been seconds, minutes, hours even before you realized what was going to happen. You had never been the best swimmer- Yes, you had taken swim lessons as a child, but the water was cold, and the sea was relentless in its pursuit in claiming you- but that didn’t even matter now.

No life jacket, the thought dawned on you. All those 'Safety at Sea Courses' you took before going out with your friend- who abandoned you- were useless without the one fundamental rule they taught:

Always wear a life-jacket.

And so you were going to drown.

Surprisingly, no panic filled your being, and only a numbness of sort spread throughout your body. You continued to just kick towards the surface and breathe as you needed. But as time went on, so did the time it took for you to reach the surface grew as the air you greedily sucked in decreased.

Finally, you felt yourself sagging almost bonelessly in tiredness. It was like invisible chains were dragging you down even harder with every kick and stroke you took to survive.

_**“Do you wish to live?”** _

“Yes!” You sputtered out, water flying out of your mouth only for waves to force more in. The liquid slammed into your throat, and your heaving lungs forced you to gasp for more air.

_**“Then, fight.”** _

You felt something clawing its way out from inside of you.

And before your vision turned black, you didn’t dare scream with the precious amount of oxygen in your dry mouth.

You felt yourself sinking deeper and deeper into the icy liquid surrounding you… and finally, you felt something inside of you snap.

_**“Rest well, lass.“** _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sure if this chapter was scary, creepy, or neither... what do you think? Anyway, thanks for reading!


	10. caged bird [Dark!Jacob Frye x Reader]

“Do you know why the caged bird sings?” The peculiar poet slurred out as he had taken up a tankard of beer in the pub. You listened with an ear open to his thoughts. The man had somehow managed to convince-most likely paid off- your boss to give you a break, for once.

“It cannot fly, and so it will sing.” The answer slipped out of your lips before you could stop them.

“A fine answer, indeed. What was your name again?”

“Nothing of importance.” you sighed out. And you were right.

A mere violinist struggling to make ends meet in one of the seediest pubs in London was no one.

“Nothing of importance is your name? What an odd name! Why a friend of mine had come across a man by the name of-”

You learned one thing that day:

Drunken poets made for interesting drinking companions.

* * *

On the off-days of the pub-when, the streets of London grew dreary and depressed- you would see the odd, hooded man sit in the corner with those green-jacketed men surrounding him. The Rooks, they were sometimes called. You had heard the name thrown around a handful of times in the typical, drunken conversations at the pub.

Still, nothing of your concern.

You continued to play your violin with your arm instinctively set at the right angle and wrists moving to slid the bow across the strings. The sound graced your ears, and you closed your eyes in lilt to the music.

All the broken dreams, the pitiful cries of the people of London you had heard were poured into making the violin sing.

You had liked to think of your music as a story almost. Like the drunken poet, you too wanted to share what you felt-saw-in the action of drawing a bow across a violin’s strings. You were the artist painting the picture of your world. Of caged birds and despair, you had your violin sing.

And as you dragged the bow across the strings one more time, the story came to a close with the resounding music…

And you opened your eyes.

The applause that greeted you was as peculiar as it was pleasant.

The noise drew your gaze to the corner of the pub, and your eyes widened in surprise at the source of such noise. The hooded man was looking straight at you with an amused smirk on his lips and hands still poised to clap once more.

You politely nodded towards the man with a smile on your lips. It was nice, for once, to have some respectful men in the audience instead of the pub’s more… rowdy members.

As you turned away to lay the violin in the case, you could have sworn that you felt the weight of a stare on your back.

You closed your eyes and took a breath. Too much alcohol could do this to a person.

(And so you became vulnerable in your obliviousness. Do not tempt the predator, and yet you did.)

* * *

A violinist’s hands were their most precious commodity. Violins themselves could be replaced…

Hands couldn’t.

This train of thought was repeated continuously in your mind as you curled your body against your limp hand. It had just been one rather rowdy drunkard-nothing you haven’t dealt with before- but it got out of control.

A few slurred words and a backhand to the face instigated a fight that only left you with shards of glass cutting into your skin as they were scattered around you, groaning bodies to explain to your boss about and a potentially broken hand.

You experimentally tried to twitch a finger in your left hand only to find yourself unable to lift a finger literally. You pushed yourself up with your only good hand and forced your eyes to look at your left hand. It was a terrible, painful sight with its unnatural, bent shape.

It would heal, you told yourself in hushed, hurried words. But the more you looked at it, the more that inexplainable well of something boiled up inside of you.

Something weighed on your chest increasingly like someone was stacking stones on the area. A breath became more and more laborious with every passing second.

From the corner of your darkening vision, you saw a door creak open, and footsteps make their way towards you.

The last thing you remembered was falling back to the glass-scattered floor only for solid, warm arms to grab hold of you.

“Don’t worry, love. I’ve got you.”

* * *

You didn’t know how it happened.

With the bodies, that is.

All you knew was that several days after the incident at the pub were the corpses of the men- those who harassed you- laid out on your doorstep in a clear display of barbarism. Their cleanly slit throats had bled and bled all over your doorstep.

Your neighbors had taken the opportunity to call you many things, not that they hadn’t done the same before.

“Witch” was one of their kinder words.

And it didn’t stop there.

The weeks went on, and so did the bodies.

The police questioned you, most likely suspecting you to be the murderer. But the confusion you displayed must have convinced them otherwise.

The law enforcement began to question you about other things… after the disappearance of your foul-mouthed neighbors. Your love life is one of their favorite topics to “discuss” about.

While you sat there with a cup of tea resting on the table and police once again searching your home, a glimpse of black robes and a familiar smirk flashing past the drapes of the window barely captured your attention with no second thought to the strange sight.

How odd.

(Oh, if only you knew.)

* * *

The man, this Jacob Frye, sat on a chair languidly with his smirk languid and body relaxed, “I’ve heard that you have been in some trouble with the gentlemen around here. In need of my Rooks, little bird?”

“Yes,” you answered. The bandages around your injured left hand still all too fresh in both mind and body. You didn’t like appealing to gang leaders and the endless bloodshed, violence that followed their every step.

But you had enough.

“Perfect, love. I can’t wait to do business with you.” Yes, he wanted information. These businessmen and drunken men with all too loose tongues spoke freely in the seemly safety of the pub. Intelligence in exchange for protection, it was.

And thus a mutually beneficial relationship was born.

“I didn’t know a gang leader such as yourself dealt with protection personally.” Jacob Frye gave you an amused and almost mischevious smirk over his drink.

“Why,  I can’t have my favorite informant be harmed.” Jacob was playful as he was sometimes. But the look in his eyes told you one thing:

He wasn’t going to leave.

“Fair enough,” you relented. The drink in your hands must have softened you.

“Could you play the violin for me, love?” You nodded wordlessly and grabbed your violin.

It only took several seconds of preparation before you let the bow slid across the strings.

This time you did not close your eyes and saw Jacob looking at you with an odd look as if he was contemplating something. Nonetheless, you continued to let your violin sing without a second thought.

(The caged bird sings of freedom, yet it knows nothing of it.)

* * *

“Do you know why the caged bird sings, love?” Jacob suddenly asked as you were handed another drink. Something about him was… drastically different.

Your mouth was dry and throat constricted by the stifling sensation under his gaze. No words could escape you.

(Why, why did you feel like this?)

The man leaned down ever so closer, with his hot breath caressing the shell of your ear, “It sings for the hope of freedom, even though its wings are clipped and feet bound.”

(In this little story of yours, you were the caged bird, and Jacob Frye was the cage. Both shielding and forcing the bird from the outside world.)

_Sing, little bird, sing._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I hope this one-shot was okay. To be honest, I don’t have much experience with writing Jacob, so I apologize if he was out of character in this or if this one-shot didn’t make sense. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this one-shot and thank you for reading!


	11. sail with me into the dark [Shay Cormac x Reader]

You saw him come into the tavern with an air rifle slung across his back and multiple weapons secured on his person. Before the Brotherhood was destroyed, you managed to obtain information from Achilles about who was truly responsible for the deaths of your family and business.

Shay Patrick Cormac.

It was suspected that he obtained a list containing information about many of the Assassin-Affiliated families, which he gave to the Templars.

All goodwill you had towards the traitor disappeared that day. Still, you didn’t hate him. Clinging to the past would only hurt you, and so you didn’t.

You had moved on. The past buried and put into the still too shallow grave in your mind, until today.

Until  _he_  arrived.

“Why haven’t you killed me already?” You didn’t feel regret for asking the question that slipped past your lips. You had already lost everything.

Your family, your livelihood,  yet you still had your life.

Shay sat down in the chair with a sigh, and a strange look in those dark eyes,“Why would I kill you?” Shay said quietly, almost uncharacteristically so.

(But why?)

“When you’re the only innocent thing left in my life.”

(He fools himself. The only innocent thing about this is that he hasn't already put a blade to your throat. Or, perhaps, that is precisely what he meant. )

* * *

He didn’t leave you alone, after that. His presence wasn’t intrusive, but merely just there. He would stop by every once in a while with an increasingly guarded look in his eyes.

“Why don’t you live in Fort Arsenal?” You nearly choked on your drink.

“I can’t, and you know that.”

You could have sworn that Shay’s eyes darkened, “You may not know this, but at one point your family did work for the Templars.”

“No,” you vehemently denied. Because why would your family at one point work with their very killers.

“Your family knew exactly what they were doing. Playing both sides if you will.”

“Get out.” you pointed towards the door with a single finger, ”I don’t know how you became like this. But I do know one thing,”

“You aren’t the man I once knew.”

“Indeed, lass.” Something was just bitter and twisted in his words.

(He exited the room with a look in his eyes that told many things.)

* * *

This time you came to him with only one thought:

Your family were going to look down on you in disgust.

You hesitantly raised your arm before steeling yourself inwardly and bringing your first down onto the wood. It was several of seconds before the sound of the footsteps approaching appeared.

“I-do you have a job opening?” You asked when the door was opened.

“I do,” Shay answered vaguely.

“What kind?”

“Something in your line of work.” You could have sworn you saw Shay smile. If not, then the apparent amusement in his dark eyes told everything you needed to know. He must have known where this was going.

(In the end, you got a position managing the finances of his fleet as well as trade, and thus becoming an ally of the Order.)

* * *

The stars dotted the sky in countless numbers above you. The crickets chirped and the night seemed to be alive. The grass felt cool against your skin, and you turned your head towards Shay.

“You were selfish to drag me into this conflict,” You paused, “But I’m selfish as well. I couldn’t resist the chance of a new future, a new hope.”

“A better world.”

“Then, why don’t the stars look brighter, the children laugh and play, and the bloodshed stop?”

“I can’t believe that things haven’t changed.”

“Why?”

“Because everything I have done, every sin I have committed, would be meaningless.”

* * *

It had been at least a decade since his departure and letters were scarce from him. You worried about your boss and wished him the best of luck-even though he would always say that he made his own luck- as both a friend and subordinate did.

You held down the fort in Fort Arsenal by managing Shay’s fleet and making sure that the Templars still maintained a presence in North America, however small.

You knew that by your increasing activity in Templar affairs, you were making a target of yourself.

And make a target of yourself you did.

The first assassination attempt involved poison. The Assassin must have gotten sloppy with the off scent of the poisoned food. You had eaten it, having known nothing of poison still. You downed some Iecepac and managed to survive the experience.

And you learned.

(No one ever attempted to use poison against you, after that.)

The second and last assassination attempt resulted in a slit throat and a scar that made you wear a scarf along with a high collar jacket.

(How ironic, that one made you a Templar. You learned to hide yourself, to bury your weaknesses and emotions under a veil.)

* * *

Shay Cormac appeared in blue and gray robes with age apparently taking its toll on him. The tiredness was evident in those dark eyes. You had experienced the same thing with endless assassination attempts and everything you built crumbling down.

“How?” He suddenly asked as you handed him a tankard of ale.

“What are y-” You cut yourself off in the realization that you forgot to wear your scarf today. The ugly scar that stretched across your neck bore proof how you danced the lines between life and death, at times.

“Assassins,” you answered merely with your voice quiet.

(Corpses of hooded figures were reported in the newspaper, the next several days. One of them you recognized all too well.)

* * *

 

“Christopher is gone. Everyone is gone.” You stood on the docks, with a cloak hiding your figure. The Assassins had overrun New York, and all you could do was have the Templars barely have a foothold in North America.

“We’ll build anew, then.”

“You once said to me that you believe this will lead to a better world,” You turned towards Shay with certainty in your eyes, “I believe in that.”

 _In you_ , went unsaid.

“May the Father of Understanding guide us all.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is not one of my best works, but certainly not the worst, in my opinion. Anyway, I started off writing this with the intention of writing Dark!Shay, but then it turned more to the category of ‘I don’t know what exactly I am writing’. Well, I hope this turned out okay. Thanks for reading!


	12. Project Ouroboros: Subject 3 [Dark!Frye Twins x Reader x Dark!Arno Dorian]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for weird and very horrible grammar and chapter as well as potentially disturbing things. Also, this is an AU. If you have any questions about this, feel free to ask in the comments. I don't mind answering any questions you might have after reading this.

You had been compromised.

The Assassins couldn’t-no hadn’t protected you. The only useful intel you provided was about the Shroud, and that was all. You were useless to them.

No longer needed, voices whispered to you. The claws of the Bleeding Effect sunk deeper into you with every word spoken in your mind.

“You can come out, love.” He called out, “We could have so much fun.” Crimson stained glass crunched against his boots as he circled around. The sheer look in his eyes only made you shut your eyes and tell yourself this wasn’t happening.

This couldn’t be real.

You slapped a hand over your mouth as you hid behind the Animus station you hid behind. The bloody circle drawn around it drew the boundary for which They never dared to cross.

It provided you both sanctuary and torture.

“You’ll come out eventually. They always do...And when you do,” Jacob Frye paused, “I’ll be waiting.” The dark chuckle following his words made a lick of fear shoot up your spine.

Your breathing was ragged and hot against the sweaty palm of your hand, still, as he walked away all too slowly and deliberately in his steps. You leaned your head against the cold metal of the Animus station, thinking back to how this all began. The abduction, the chair, the drugs-

Everything.

The plastic of the camera groaned in protest as your deathly tight grip on it increased. The device was your only way of seeing in the dark. They had a way of seeing with their Gift, but you had nothing except for this device. The decreasing bars on the upper right side of its monitor haunted your thoughts.

When those bars were reduced to nothing, you would be blind in the dark.

Helpless like a lone sheep when hunted by ravenous wolves.

* * *

 

Your eyes focused intently on the monitor in front of you while you walked your way in the dark hallway. Sometimes, the fluorescent lights flickered to life weakly before dying out. Down the hall, there was a door bathed in crimson light and liquid.

Bloody handprints, in some twisted form of art, decorated the walls. You noticed, in the night vision granted by your camera, that the wounds of the corpses began to grow less and less beaten and more chopped up with limbs severed.

Every one of them had a different style of killing. The Fryes were brutal in their style and tended to “play” with their victims. The Cormacs, hunters in their own right, laid traps that allowed them to ambush their prey. Arno Dorian was the unknown though.

You had yet to come across him. Perhaps, that had to do so with your ability to “sense” him so to speak. The buzzing sensation beneath your skull at the back of your head increased when he came closer. With it, you had been able to avoid him so far.

And at that very moment, a familiar sensation, a humming in a sense, slowly came to life in your head. You froze in your footsteps, but not at that.

No, it wasn’t that, but the rapidly approaching figure was running down the hallway…towards you.

You tensed, ready to flee, as the man came closer and the blood on his clothes became apparent. But what made you pause for a second was the clothes he was wearing.

Abstergo’s security guard uniform.

The terrified look in his eyes made the truth dawn on you. He was being hunted. Oh, how they must hate him for being what he was.

And he was luring them to not only him but to you.

“Go away!” you hissed at him, minding your voice carefully.

“Nononono-” he chanted, “They’ll kill me. The twins… they like you, right? Help me, and I’ll get you out of here-”

“I have no time for your delusions,” you snapped, “Leave before I call them.”

The look on the guard’s face took on a desperate turn, “I wasn’t asking.” Before you had a chance even to react, a white-hot sensation erupted in your thigh. A warm liquid trickling down your leg and becoming sticking to your clothes made you look down in shock.

A needle. It was one of those large, blunt ones used by those scientists to poke and prod, in the name of researching the subject’s “reaction” to stimuli.

And it was embedded in your leg. The needle buried in all the way as you could feel the metal bringing constant flows of pain onto your leg.

“Y-you bastard,” you swore vehemently before gritting your teeth when you jerked the needle out roughly.

“You-” The guard suddenly paled, something inside of you almost smiled vindictively at, in sheer and utter horror.

The familiar tapping sound came closer and closer…

Until it stopped.

You quickly hobbled over to the closest wall with your good leg and slid down roughly against the wall with a grunt of pain. It was best to make yourself look as weak as possible. The Fryes didn’t like pathetic prey, as long as said prey didn’t wrong them.

“It looks like we will be having fun tonight, sister dearest.”

“Indeed, brother dearest.”

You felt yourself shake in terror. Everyone in this damned place had some form of mercy in their own oh so twisted way. The Fryes lacked that and spared no mercy. They played and played until their victims just…

Shattered.

Just like the guard in front of you.

The sound of metal hitting flesh was soon followed by a sickening crack. The unnatural way the man’s arm was hanging down told you enough to see that it was broken.

And soon the man would be too.

Still, you couldn’t find it in yourself to spare any pity or compassion for the man. Why would you? He was part of those who dragged you here kicking and screaming.

And they forced you into that damned chair and-

Insane. They made you insane with these voices and memories.

The Bleeding Effect that affected you before being abducted was minor. Aside from the sudden fondness for baguettes and alcohol, you hadn’t quite truly experienced the Bleeding Effect, unlike many of your predecessors.

But when they shoved you into the Chair kicking and scream, something inside of you began to break. And with each time they dragged you back there, it just continued to break and break… until it just shattered.

It had been like a dam was holding back everything until it just broke and the floods came.

And came they did.

Episodes wracked your body daily with visions of Arno Dorian’s life. His greatest moments and his worst. It wasn’t like being in the Helix. No, it was worse. It was just… raw. The Helix showed you relevant information about what you were trying to research: Precursor artifacts and Sages in Arno’s life. But you began to feel his emotions: the hatred, anger, guilt, and everything else.

The last resounding cry the guard made before quieting made you snap out of your thoughts. The light in those pain-stricken eyes began to die and dull with every ragged breath the beaten man took.

Jacob Frye stepped back as if admiring his work, while his sister stood to the side, watching as always. You tried to move subtly to the exit by pulling yourself backward only to draw the attention of the two.

You could have sworn Jacob winked at you before mouthing several words that made you freeze:

_I’ll be waiting for you._

_Good_ , you thought. Because you sure as well wasn’t going to do the same.

The Frye’s dark chuckle and signature tapping sound ran through your head as you tried to once again make your way to the exit. But the pain in your leg ached and burned every time you even moved.

You vaguely began to wonder if the needle was laced with something. You had yet to check on your wound. You pulled your pant leg up until the bare skin of your thigh was revealed.

You inhaled sharply at the movement, but not only at that. What you saw as an angry puncture wound oozing something unnatural in color alone. This was not something you could walk off.

“ _Merde_ …!” you swore softly when you slipped and collapsed on the blood slickened floor. Your vision was blurry, and you could only feel the increasingly humming sensation in your head and footsteps coming closer and closer.

Your arms vainly tried to push you off the floor only to give out and send your chest smacking against the floor painfully. Your pained gasps filled your hearing, and the footsteps seemed to stop.

But then they resumed and you… surrendered to the blissful darkness that awaited you.

* * *

You awoke the sight of bottles surrounding you. Ones of wine were the most prominent of them all with the minority consisting of beer.

“What...” you trailed off before grasping your head. It felt like someone had slammed a sledgehammer against your skull as well as your leg… multiple times. Your leg… a hand trailed down and felt for it only to pause at the texture. It felt different than the soft material of your clothes.

You forced your eyes, despite the increased ache it caused you in your head, downwards. Bandages wrapped around your leg, covering the multitude of cuts and puncture wounds that littered it.

“I see that you are awake,” An accented voice interrupted your thoughts. That of French, perhaps? Or Canadian…

“Who are you?” you asked instead of asking what your rescuer’s intentions were.

“Arno. Arno Dorian.” Your stomach sank down in revelation of what just happened. You have just met Arno Dorian, the one person in this madhouse you knew never to meet. You had seen what the Connection was like. The Cormacs and the Helix Research Analyst from Abstergo Entertainment provided testament to that.

“I need to go,” you said hastily, but not without a hint of reluctance in your voice. The safety and comfort you felt around you were hard to part with. But it was better to go now before it was too late-

Only for you stumble and fall…

Solid arms caught you by your shoulders, and you gazed into amber eyes.

“ _Oh, pauvre petite chose_ ,” He lifted a hand to brush against your cheek, tracing the scar spanning across your cheek. You bore the same scar he did. But you inflicted this one on yourself. And that was when you knew the truth.

Arno Dorian already knew.

The only question was that if he would let you go.

* * *

 

“You need to let me go,” the words fell from your lips like blood from an open wound.

“And why would I do that?”

“The twins. They’ll come after me,”

“Let them,” he replied offhandedly. Something in his voice distracted and yet his eyes remained fixed on you.

“By that, I mean the Frye-” You were cut off by a warm, soft pressure on your lips.

It had taken only several seconds for what exactly was happening to sink in.

Arno Dorian was kissing you.

What the-

Before you knew it, he pulled back with a content smile on his face. Something peaceful in his being, the same peace you felt seeping in as well, “Yes, much better.”

At that moment, you didn’t know whether to punch or run away. Most likely both if you managed to get that leg of yours working fine.

“I’m not Élise,” You remarked, hoping that invoking her name would bring some sense to Arno Dorian.

The man only smiled darkly as if something was amusing by your attempts to deter him, “Oh, I know that,” He leaned closer with his breath brushing against the shell of your ear, “You are much different to me.”

Just like how you were with the Fryes, you couldn’t bring yourself just to move even when you knew he was up to something and that he wasn’t going to let you go.

A hand slid to your neck gently, almost caressing the skin. Something sharp pricked your neck and darkness began to creep into your vision. With your senses dulled and limbs suddenly weighing heavily on your person, his words were the last thing you heard before succumbing to the darkness.

“You make the voices stop, after all.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was tired when I wrote this and still am, so here is one of those odd stories I come up with when I am tired. Anyway, I hope this chapter wasn't too bad. I wanted to have more Arno in this chapter but I guess writing some Dark!Frye Twins was too tempting. By the way, would anyone be up for seeing some Dark!Edward or Dark!Shay in this AU? I'm willing to give it a shot with writing Edward's character, and it would be interesting to write some Dark!Shay in this AU as I have already referred to him in this. Well, thanks for reading and feel free to comment!


	13. Project Ouroboros: Subject 2 - Part I [Dark!Haytham Kenway x Reader]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For tears_telling_dreams
> 
> I tried to write Haytham's character as best as I could. Things will get darker in the next chapter, by the way. So if Haytham wasn't dark enough in this chapter, then he probably will be in the next one. I just wanted to have this chapter be Reader-centric because I like giving backstory and trying to give some depth if possible (I don't know if it worked out in this one though...).

“Don’t fuck this up, numbskull.” Violet de Costa stared at you as the briefing of your reassignment ended. You only kept your head down and nodded slightly, not daring to look into her eyes. Something about her, and not just her aggression towards you, was off.

You could just feel it.

But perhaps it was the hot spark of anger in your chest that you knew wasn’t entirely yours. You always had a temper, but you were always the one who kept a level head in times of a fight. You suspected Abstergo was tampering with your medication, meant for relieving the migraines you had. The last computer you had hacked in Abstergo Entertainment showed correspondence between Aidan St. Claire and a fellow research analyst in their building in Montreal.

“Your debriefing has ended. You're dismissed.” Juhani Otso Berg acknowledged you with a slight nod before turning to the scientist in the room, Cassidy Queens.

With a head full of golden locks of hair and icy blue eyes, the scientist didn’t quite fit the typical image you had in mind. But then again you used to have that same very image for the analysts here until you knew what exactly they did.

_“Don’t you know? Wolves hid in sheep’s clothing, lass.”_

* * *

You felt yourself retreat into the cold, ashen confines of your mind. Your presence curled up in the deepest corner you could find in the dark world with only liquid to walk on.

The only blessing this place gave you was the ability not to see. To be blind to what they were doing to your body.

Yet it could not shield what your body felt, and what you felt. The desperate burning in your lungs, the creeping, terrifying coldness set in your very bones that made each time harder to move your fingers, and the purple liquid they injected into you-the rage you felt from that-

“Stop,” the word fell from your lips in a desperate plea to deaf ears. Your limbs shook and shivered as your body was wracked with waves of continuous pain.

“But they won’t,” A voice responded from deep in the void, both distant and close at the same time. Your eyes widened in surprise, “They never do.”

He wasn’t Shay Cormac.

The voice was clear and crisp and held no Irish accent of any kind. It was… British almost from what you could tell. But why did you hear this…

And then it dawned on you as did the hysterical laughter bubbled out of your lips in the realization of your madness.

You’re going insane.

“I apologize for the disappointment this will cause you,” He said dryly, “But I am afraid I am real as you are.”

“Wha-” Figments of insanity didn’t claim that they were real, did they? You couldn’t tell, not now. Not when you weren’t quite sure at times on who you were. Shay Cormac or yourself? So hard to tell-

Whywhywhy-

“You are asking all the wrong questions.”

“Fine!” you snapped, patience finally wearing off. You were in no mood for some twisted delusion of yours’ mind games, “Who are you?”

“Ah, a smart one for once,” The voice was getting closer and only then did you hear the sound of footsteps approaching.

Your head snapped to the sound and eyes widened at the sight that greeted you. Those robes and the voice-

Everything made sense now… except for why the hell he was here in the first place.

“Haytham Kenway at your service.”

* * *

When Queens and her orderlies finally tired of you, they threw you away into cryo as if brushing off lint absently from a sleeve.

And that was how you ended up waiting. Waiting in your mind for the perfect opportunity. But even so, you had to learn.

And learn you did.

Unlike Shay Cormac, Haytham Kenway didn’t teach you how to hunt, not in the physical sense. No, he taught you something else entirely.

The Templar taught you how to manipulate. Not just a person but the events, the truth, and everything else.

The thing about manipulation was that it wasn’t all about the lies. A grain of truth always made the lie all the greater and believable. Manipulation also required perfect timing as well as allies.

To pull off a plan you needed allies. Someone you could trust and not just manipulate.

And those were the lessons you learned from Haytham Kenway and his memories as Grandmaster of the American Rite.

“Now make them dance, love.” _Just like the puppets they are_ , you silently finished. No words needed to be spoken to know what would happen. The dark glint in Haytham’s eyes and countenance of a master of his own craft would have made you hide like you had done so with Shay long ago.

But no longer did you do so.

There were different monsters in this world. Those who would aid you and those who would hurt you.

Even if you had to become a monster yourself to survive, then so be it. Abstergo had just taken and taken from you without giving anything in return.

It was time the debt was repaid.

**_Dance, puppets, dance._ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up is Dark!Shay in this AU. I know Haytham's character was probably pretty cringy in this. I apologize for that, by the way. Well, at least, I can say that I tried. I am not good at characterization, so this is how my writing of characters I am unfamiliar with works out. This is random, but can anyone guess what horror video game I took inspiration from to make this AU? Kudos to anyone who knows! Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this chapter, even though it probably wasn't creepy or good really. Thanks for reading!


	14. Project Ouroboros: Subject 2 - Part II [Reader-centric]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for potentially disturbing things as well as some language. Also, this chapter is Reader-centric.

 

> **From: Cassidy Queens**  
>  **To: Alan Rikkin**  
>  **Date/Time: January 11, 2017**  
>  **Subject: Report on Subject 2**
> 
>   
>  **Recruited by Juhani Otso Berg and Violet de Costa, Subject 2 has demonstrated an advanced form of the Bleeding Effect through hallucinations described by the subject made of that of “smoke.” Bleeding in the eyes from an unknown strain [potentially caused by an underdeveloped form of Eagle Vision] and increased psychotic episodes consisting of delusions of the subject being Shay Cormac himself and the orderlies being the American Assassins he hunted.**
> 
> **Heightened abilities have resulted from this form of the Bleeding Effect such as increased reflexes, endurance, pain tolerance, strategical and combat abilities. When Subject 2 was first brought into the facility as a subject, psychotic episodes appeared to increase in frequency than suggested by previous reports before the subject’s capture. It is hypothesized that an increase in emotion and hormonal imbalance in the body systems could prove to be triggers for these “episodes.”**
> 
> **Further testing has already begun on the matter by disrupting the homeostasis of the subject’s body. Severe and hostile environmental factors have proven to be a critical factor in discovering more about the Bleeding Effect’s potential for genetic enhancement. The wave simulator has proven to be the most productive concerning results with the subject going into episodes 90% of the time.**
> 
> **With Subject 2’s underdeveloped form of Eagle Vision and apparent genetic enchantments, the subject appears to have the most potential in the facility’s subjects since Desmond Miles. Further time in holding Subject 2 in the facility is requested.**
> 
> **\- Cassidy Queens**

That _bitch_.

Words had been thrown around in the message that you didn’t even bother to understand, but the words ‘hallucinations’, ‘Bleeding Effect,’ and ‘imbalance’ stuck out.

There was something wrong with you. Oh, you knew for a long time that something was wrong. But you thought it had this place, not you.

 _ **You’re a monster**_ , a voice of the past whispered. Just one of the ghosts that haunted you for the sins not of yours but of others.

“What the hell did they do to me?” you asked yourself as the words of the email sank in.

 _“Everything. They killed you and brought you back over and over again until you outlived your usefulness to them. Like a broken toy tossed aside.”_ A voice murmured inside of you; the hollowness seemed to make the words echo.

It was cold.

You had realized that fact as the steady hum of the air conditioners running filled the hallways. The constant noise was welcome to your strained ears as anything was better than silence.

You could have sworn you saw your breath in front of you as you breathed in and out repeatedly.

_Just keep breathing._

_Just keep walking._

_And you will be fine._

The sterile, white outfit they gave you, fitted with a stark white shirt and pants, offered little to no protection against the icy air. The goosebumps that appeared on your skin as you shivered reminded you of another time.

Another life, you reminded yourself. And it wasn’t yours.

Your feet carried you sluggishly down the hall, following the rabbit trail of blood.

And down and down you would go. 

* * *

There is a door that leads to a white room. One that you remember of blood-curdling screams and pleas for mercy. But not from you.

The ones that had pride lasted a day. The ones who didn’t end up lasting longer than that before giving in.

Giving in to what, a part of you thought. You knew. It was somewhere at the back of your head. You just had to think.

Trepidly, your hand grasped the cold, metallic handle before turning it slowly. Something was familiar with this simple motion. Similar to the perfection strived for by the Templars, the door was flawless in its action and soundless in its opening.

And you found the answer to your question on the other side.

_**Insanity.** _

“You shouldn’t be here.”

“Why?” you asked while turning to face the newcomer. Something inside of you felt numb almost except not. You could still feel, but everything felt different. Unhinged almost.

Just like that door, you thought amusedly. The door you had walked through was broken and torn off its hinges. A part of you wondered why you hadn’t noticed that before.

Your new companion was like you, as shown by the stark, white uniform. But his was different. You just… couldn’t tell. Everything felt different.

As he walked towards you wordlessly, a realization began to creep up on you. The crimson liquid the knife in his hand was bathed in, and those red streaks and droplets splattered across the once pure white cloth.

Before being grabbed by the throat and slammed against the wall, you realized one thing:

Oh, that was blood.

* * *

“Numbskull,” a voice called out to you. For some reason, a color came to your mind. Purple...no it wasn’t that. A different shade or color it had to be, but close.

Violet, something inside of you murmured into the hollow expanse. You blinked at the sudden image of the vivid color, wondering how such a simple thing arose such emotion from you.

“You really are an idiot.” You could only blink dumbly as a hand struck out and pinned your throat down. Your eyes trailed down the tan arm to see a hand around your throat, choking you. But you couldn’t feel yourself breathe.

“You deny what you feel, but accept what you don’t.”

“You… you’re not her,” You’re not Violet, you left unsaid. She wouldn’t say this. Violet de Costa would not understand, “You aren’t real,” you spoke louder this time, each word increasing in volume.

A hysterical laugh began to build in your throat, “None of you are.”

“One of us is,” Angry eyes stared down at you with disapproval as a hand reached down and obscured your vision. A tress of hair brushed against your cheek as she murmured into your ear, “If you cannot fight it, then embrace it.”

The next time you opened your eyes, the man was staring down at you with eyes just like yours and a hand wrapped around your throat.

_“Embrace what you cannot; Fight what you can.”_

It was an all too familiar motion practiced by decades upon decades of practice, not at all of your own. The shard of glass you had not remembered you slipped into your pocket was suddenly in your hand… and then in the man’s throat.

This was your first kill and yet not.

Centuries ago, you killed Assassins; you killed Templars.

And this was not murder. The almost sickeningly pleased look in the man’s eyes told many things. One of such was that of relief. Simple, blissful relief.

You had done the man a coup de grâce.

You morbidly wondered if you would become like him. But a part of you knew the truth.

He could not handle the reality, the truth that he had no chance to fight. But you wouldn’t fight it. No, you would embrace it.

With bloody hands, you bent down and picked up the knife off of the cold tile. The weapon was foreign in your hands, but it was still a tool.

It would become familiar.

And so you went out that door with hands forever stained with blood and mind reformed by a new truth.

And you kept on moving down that hall…

One step at a time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Violet de Costa makes an appearance in this chapter (sort of). Next up will be Shay's part in this. Originally, he was supposed to have a main role in this part, but I wanted to focus on Reader a bit more and how they are affected. Also, Reader is going to be dark in the part I have planned for Shay, so this makes the transition a bit easier. By the way, I just wanted to say that I really appreciate all the comments that I have gotten for this. To be honest, they help give me ideas for what to write next as well as the motivation to do so. I always have fun writing this stuff, but it is nice to know that other people are reading this and may enjoy doing so. So thank you especially to those who commented! Well, for those who read this chapter, thank you for reading as well!


	15. Project Ouroboros: Subject 2 - Part III [Dark!Shay Cormac x Reader x Dark!Haytham Kenway]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A broken ‘yes’ escaped you.
> 
> And just like that, your demons broke loose.
> 
> “Then, we will take the Queen’s crown and crush them to dust.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For mistressmun

_The land was covered entirely in ice, all but that one tree. An all too familiar figure stood underneath that tree._

_“You are scared,” he said quietly, dark eyes looking searchingly yet knowingly into your own._

_“I am,” you admitted as you focused on the tree-not him. Never him- with single-minded focus._

_“I wonder,” he began, walking towards you with intent in both his gaze and steps, “Which you are more scared of... myself, the monster that haunts you, or the pain, which torments you so?”_

_It was then did the stiff, numb terror that had enveloped you dissipate enough for you to begin to feel the faint pricklings of pain that just began to rise and rise-_

_“What?”_

_“You don’t remember, do you? What they are doing to you now.” You would have snapped at the intentional vagueness in his words if the pain began to rise to your head and soon enough your throat felt hoarse. The ringing in your ears and warm liquid trailing down your skin soon had realization creep up on you._

_You were screaming._

* * *

_He followed a trail of blood across the pure white snow. The crimson liquid marred the innocence of the snow. Robes swayed in the wind that brought with it an icy chill that made your very bones shiver._

_It was like a play of sorts. A twisted one, nonetheless. But you knew better._

_This was no delusion of yours._

_No, it was a memory._

_And one that would just keep repeating and repeating._

_But why, you asked yourself. Why this specific one?_

_You could have sworn Shay Cormac glanced over at you as he aimed his rifle at the crippled, hooded figure. A smile graced his lips, but with dark intent, you knew._

_“Enjoying the show, love?” A familiar voice whispered into your ear, hot breath against cold skin._

_Already knowing who the voice belonged to, you turned around slowly and found yourself in front of Haytham Kenway in his usual robes. The cape he had across his back and robes all too thin for this weather whipped around as the wind roared and howled._

_“Why?” you asked, your voice steadily rising, “Why did you keep showing me the memory over and over again?”_

_“This is not of our doing,” His eyes flickered to you, something always calculating in them, “But yours.”_

_“You’re lying,” you accused vehemently. A long, dark smile slowly tugged at his lips, just like Shay’s._

_“Oh, but we never lie. Not to you, love.”_

_For once, you felt reassured by that. The lies fed to you by Abstergo and by Violet had you tired and wary._

_And to think the only ones being truly honest to you were the demons inside of you._

* * *

_Crack._

_As the Assassin got murdered once more by the shot of a rifle, you glanced down at your feet. You could have sworn you heard a crack, and not due to the rifle._

_Crack._

_“One,” you murmured to yourself as you slowly had a foot move forward in front of you._

_Crack._

_“Two,” A groan of protest was heard, and you began to hasten your steps._

_Crack._

_“Thre-”_

_BANG._

_And down you went into the black._

**_“Bring Subject 2 out.”_ **

Your eyes flew open to the sight of a Queen. She moved with a cruel grace that would bring envy from others and loyalty from some. The pen in her hands was a sword and the clipboard her shield.

But her eyes, you realized.

They were her crown.

And you, the traitor, was brought to your knees with shackles to hold you down. With the weapon she brandished in her left hand, the Queen declared your sentence with several flourishing words across clean, white paper and a few, softly spoken words.

And so you were punished.

* * *

One step at a time, you walked down that hallway with its flickering lights bathing the hall into darkness one second and light into the other.

How similar it was to you.

One moment, you would be drowning, and the next you would be breathing.

You halted in your small, quiet steps at the sign in front of you. 

 

> **STOP**

The sign told you with bold, white letters emblazoned on it. A sensation, like that of a spider weaving a web around its prey, began to cover you, slowly trapping you in its embrace.  
“Stop.” you gasped out, bile creeping back up your throat.

“Subject 2 is in need of more stimuli. Proceed with the experiment.” Purple gas flooded into the room. The tendrils of the gaseous substance sneaking through the tubes and rolling onto the floor.

Your legs kicked wildly as you scrambled to get away from the gas. Shay Cormac had used this sort of gas in his lifetime. Although, it was more common of him to use it in the form of a poisoned dart instead of gas.

But just like them, you couldn’t escape.

Never could.

“Do you want to live?” He asked you. You couldn’t bring yourself to answer that. Not when your lungs breathed in the poison and spread it across your body, tainting it even more than they have already done.

“You’ll be okay, lass.” His voice softened to be almost comforting in nature. But even your panic-stricken mind knew better.

Do not be fooled by the wolf who brings honeyed words. For it is you he seeks to hunt.

“Stop,” you groaned out, “I want this to stop.”

“And how so?”

“Take her crown and crush it.” Haytham added. His voice sly and knowing, “Isn’t that what you want, love?”

A broken ‘yes’ escaped you.

And just like that, your demons broke loose.

**_“Then, we will take the Queen’s crown and crush them to dust.”_ **

* * *

The orderlies looked on in sickened fascination as the subject’s head snapped to them in predatory interest. Its eyes were that of pits, almost. Dark and ever-consuming.

Hungry.

They looked to Queens for guidance as she barked out orders to secure the subject-and cut off the gas dammit!-

But it was too late.

The subject slowly and shakily stood on its two legs and moved its hands experimentally, as if reveling in its body.

It then took several steps before looking towards the gas tubes.

Their hearts sunk in trepidation and horror as it breathed in the gas directly from the pipes. A dark smile ‘graced’ its features as it turned to look at Queens.

It ran…

And the glass cracked.

* * *

They spoke as if your demons were yours.

Yours…

To own.

To keep.

To control.

But they were wrong.

If anything, you were theirs.

Theirs to protect, to control.

And as you once again stood under the lone tree surrounded by snow in the icy landscape, you closed your eyes.

And let them run rampant and free.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the dark!Shay chapter. I tried to have more of Shay in here, but I couldn't resist writing Haytham as well. Ah, this chapter was probably weirder than my usual weirdness in writing. Well, I hope this was tolerable to read. I'm thinking of taking a break from this AU, and write a special for the next chapter. I have two ideas for the next chapter: 1) Student AU where Abstergo has a Helix program and student!Reader signs up for it. I'm not sure about the pairings though. 2) Ghost AU where Reader buys a house that turns out to have been owned by reader's subject of research (Shay, Arno, Thomas, etc.) in the past. If you don't mind me asking, do you have preferences between the two? Also, I have a lot of time this month to write, so feel free to put in requests in the comments. Anyway, thank you for reading this odd chapter of mine!


	16. Cry Wolf [Ghost!Shay Cormac x Reader]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by The Birch, a short horror film made by Crypt TV.

* * *

_**For thy that makest me, I shall come** _

_**Thy who breaks me shall come undone** _

* * *

There was a tradition in your family to always carry the wooden talisman that was handed from generation to generation of patriarchs of the family.

Until it came down to you.

The last remaining descendant of the patriarchs that inherited the talisman was you.

A female and outcast of your family. The black sheep, so to say.

You could practically hear Violet's sharp remark about how fitting it was for a ‘numbskull' such as yourself to have such a role in your family.

* * *

It was handed down to you by a relative with dark, haunted eyes and bitter smirk directed at you, as if there was some irony in the very moment he laid eyes on you.

"Good luck," he said before chuckling to himself, something dark and sinister in the action itself. A shiver ran up your spine as you ran a gloved finger on the small, wooden talisman. It was shaped like a wolf, and something felt ever so familiar about it-you've seen it somewhere-

"And make good use of the cabin," The man paused, "You will find it to be… enlightening."

And that was when you decided that you were going to sell the cabin, no matter the cost.

Literally.

(Because, call it intuition, but a talisman plus a cabin in the woods sounded like something out of a horror movie)

* * *

It didn't sell.

Even when lowering the cost to an insanely low one of fifteen dollars, no one would take it. And if someone did, something unfortunate seemed to happen to them.

Loved ones going to the hospital, car accidents, and even hacked bank accounts.

You eventually gave up in your quest to get rid of your inheritance. Your co-workers, even the ones at Sigma Team who you occasionally offered advice on missions, were beginning to suspect you were a murderer. At least, that is what you thought, if the suspicious glances in your direction were any signs.

 _Not far off the guess_ , you thought darkly. The blood on his-your-hands had yet to wash away, no matter how hard you tried to scrub it away under scalding water and slick suds of soap.

You were lucky though when it came to the Bleeding Effect. You underwent therapy for the Bleeding Effect and the increasing hallucinations of your subject of research-don't mention his name-around the time your father had passed on the talisman to yourself.

By the time you had received the talisman, the hallucinations had stopped.

It was the therapy, you told yourself. Something inside you shook though.

Where exactly did your family even get the talisman?

The answer from everyone was simple.

(They didn't know.)

* * *

You hadn't known the danger of being involved in flushing out the Assassins with footage of the memories of his life.

But now you did.

And Abstergo wasn't lifting a single finger to protect you. You were an agent, after all. Prove yourself, Violet had offhandedly said as she shoved a knife at you with barely another glance.

And you tried.

But every hideout and ally you met ended up falling prey to the Assassins, and for once, you felt glad for that cabin in the woods.

After all, something out of a horror movie couldn't be worse than death by the Assassins.

Because you knew that they would show you no mercy.

(They never did.)

* * *

The treck to the cabin was long and winding with the road icy and hazardous in the winter storm blasting through the area. Wind bit at your skin viciously as you slammed the car's door shut and struggled to pass through the deep snow.

The scarf you wore whipped around rapidly, and you grabbed the flailing ends and held them.

"That cabin better have a furnace," you murmured to yourself, your voice getting lost in the howling wind. As you trudged through the deep snow, two black shapes walked into your field of vision.

Your eyes slid over to the black shapes standing out sharply against the harsh, white landscape.

The smaller shape seemed to resemble that of a crow, while the larger one on the ground was that of a dog…

 _No_ , you thought with dread creeping on you like an old friend.

_Wolf._

It was a wolf.

Heating or no heating, you didn't care as you scrambled to get to the cabin door. The knob was icy, and your fingers recoiled at the temperature before hastily getting the keys out of your coat's pocket and shoving the golden key into the lock. Twisting it sharply, the door unlocked and you jerked the key out of the lock and twisted the knob. Pushing forward, you went inside frantically before closing the door and locking it.

You leaned your head against the wooden door frame as you slid down the door with a sigh of relief. The rush of adrenaline at the sight of the wolf wore down, and you rubbed your hands together.

**_It was cold._ **

* * *

You sighed in pleasure as your hands held the warm mug of hot chocolate tightly. The cabin, as it would turn out, had a Benjamin Franklin stove and a decent stockpile of wood, most likely from the previous owner.  
The once icy atmosphere of the cabin had gradually turned into a nice, toasty one, accented by the smell of hot chocolate.

(Mix packets of Hot Chocolate were a blessing to grab at hotels on the way here.)

You relaxed and reclined lightly on the rocking chair near the Benjamin Franklin stove. The fire crackled softly, and the swaying of the chair lulled you into a sense of security.

After weeks on the run, you were safe.

_For now._

* * *

_**It was hot.** _

That was your first thought as you groaned. Beads of sweat trickled down your forehead and throat felt parched. Across the room, you could hear the fire roaring…

Your eyes shot open, and you bolted out of your bed. The sheets caught on your legs and you fell. Your chin connected sharply with the wooden floor, and you winced.

But, as you looked up, a bolt of pure, utter horror struck you.

Fire.

It was everywhere.

The rocking chair you once sat on was aflame… and still rocking.

And the stove...as if possessed, had its fire only crackling lightly.

Tendrils of hot, flames licked up the ceiling, and a groaning sound was heard. A flaming plank of wood fell in front of you, and you feebly protected yourself with your arms against the next falling debris.

 ** _Monro_** was your last thought.

* * *

They were at last here.

The Assassins.

Something just prickled at the back of your mind and bristled at their presence. You wrote it off as the Bleeding Effect and the aversion Shay had to Assassins as expected from his occupation.

Your hand instinctively clutched the talisman hung around your neck. Was it too much to ask for the wolf to take care of them?

In fact, it was too much to ask.

You writhed as a hand pinned you by your neck to the floor, choking you ever so slowly. Your hands scratched at the hooded figure's face in vain.

Your vision began to blur into focus as you gasped for air.

"For thy who makest me, I shall come. Thy who breaks me shall come undone."

Your family's motto of sorts. Not exactly all sunshine and rainbows, that one. Then again, your family was all about holding grudges and vengeance in their unique ways.

And at this moment, you could relate. You understood.

You wanted vengeance.

 _I don't want to die like this_ , you realized with a surge of rage.

The Assassin must have wanted info as they spoke with careful deliberation only for their words to fall on deaf ears.

"F-for thy who makest me, I shall come," You said lowly as you could see the Assassin raise their hand, most likely to finish you off with a hidden blade to the throat, "Thy who breaks me shall come undone…!" You said as hard as you could while gasping for air that is.

It came in a mixture of crimson and black smoke, forming in the middle of the cabin. A tendril of violent red smoke materialized into a red cross on the chest of… him. It was as if time was slowing down as he walked towards you.

You were still kneeling down on the floor, short of breath. You could have sworn belts, and weapons shuffled lightly as he kneeled down in front of you. He was close.

Close enough to see the scar over his eye.

Close enough to smell the familiar scent of gunpowder and tobacco.

" _I was born of flames and earth_ ," He whispered into your ear, something intimate and secretive in his very words, " _What am I?_ "

"You are...him." you finished lamely, a feeling of disbelief numbed you to the reality that stood before you.

" _What am I?_ " he asked again. Curls of smoke brushed against you as he leaned closer. You could make out those dark eyes that were filled with grim amusement.

But at what?

(Yourself, you answered yourself. It was because of you.)

"Shay. Shay Patrick Cormac." You breathed out those very words. The words you once swore not ever to say.

He chuckled lowly yet earnestly, " _Pleased to make your acquaintance, **Master**._ "

"W-what are you?" The Assassin interrupted, voice filled with awe and disbelief. A similar sentiment you could relate to.

" _I am her guardian._ " was all that was said before a hidden blade pierced the Assassin's throat. Blood splattered on the floor, and crimson smoke seemed to dot Shay Cormac's face in replacement of the crimson liquid itself.

He glanced at you with lips curled in amusement and anticipation before turning to the task at hand.

And then the wolves howled.

* * *

" _I have already repaid my debt to this family._ " Shay Cormac's voice was sly and seductive almost. Not in the sense of romance, but in the way of temptation. He was the type of person to be able to convince another that the "grass was greener on the other side." You briefly wondered if he ever made turncoats out of Assassins.

" _-What can you give me in return, lass?_ " A finger tilted your bowed head up to face him.

"Nothing," you answered quickly, "I do not have anything to give-"

" _But yourself._ " Shay finished with an almost ravenous look in his eyes.

"Is that enough?" you asked quietly. A part of yourself was still in disbelief of what happened only an hour ago. But you knew better than to not take advantage of the numbness that enveloped your being.

" _More than,_ " he reassured. And he was telling the truth if the sheer earnestness and hunger in his eyes said anything.

A part of you wanted to laugh at the situation you found yourself in. It wasn't quite the scenario out of a horror movie you expected.

In any case, you would take the apparition in front of you over the Assassins, anytime.

" _Now, to seal the contract._ " A sinking feeling hit you as he said those words.

"S-seal?"

" _Aye,_ " Shay nodded with a shark-like grin, predatory and grim in its nature, " _Blood would be preferable._ " The apparition added absently. A hand lightly brushed against the cut on your forehead. A cold sensation overtook your head, and the airy smoke passed through it with only crimson smoke spreading throughout the black smoke.

**_"It's a deal."_ **

* * *

You had dismissed it as a drug-induced dream. Violet must have tainted the Advil and pills Abstergo had prescribed you for the Bleeding Effect with some wacky drug.

After all, there was no blood, cabin on fire, or bodies to see.

You had been hallucinating, you told yourself.

But that didn't stop a spark of curiosity igniting in your chest.

It wouldn't hurt to try if it wasn't real… right?

Sitting back in your office with your back facing the Animus, you clutched a mug filled with vitalizing, hot coffee as you said aloud, "For thy who makest me, I shall come. Thy who breaks me shall come undone."

_**"Hello, lass."** _

_The coffee mug dropped._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part of the reason I finally got around to making this chapter was because of the news that Assassin's Creed Rogue would be getting remastered. Speaking of which, to anyone who is a fan of Rogue, congratulations! I"m pretty excited for the Remastered version, and I can't wait for March this year.
> 
> Anyway, moving onto the story...
> 
> Well, I know that there was a lot of parts that didn't have Shay in it, and I apologize. I wanted to try and build up suspense, and I got a bit carried away. It's been a little while since I've written a chapter for Twisted Helix, so I'll try to make the next chapter better. Speaking of the next chapter, anyone have any suggestions or requests? I would love to do a request or suggestion. The only idea I have so far is a Dark Modern!AU that may or may not have powers involved in it. I'm sort of thinking to do a chapter with Bayek, but it really depends though. If you've got any AUs from games or movies that are dark or grim, please tell me! I really welcome new ideas. 
> 
> Well, thank you so much for reading through this rather tedious chapter and have a great day/night!


	17. you're all I see - Aberration [Shay Cormac x Reader] (Chapter 1)

# Aberration

  
_**Synchronization beginning in…** _

**5**

You took a breath from the oxygen fed to you through the mask. Icy liquid seeped into your being with an ever so encompassing embrace.

**4**

A bloom of heat began to curl in the back of your head. You could practically feel the milky white liquid sloshing around you, as you breathed in and out steadily.

**3**

A familiar numbness crept into you like an old friend. Distance yourself, a voice told you. Berg, if you recalled correctly. The man had served as your mentor briefly before-

**2**

_Focus_ , you reminded yourself. There was a reason they chose you for this. Afterall-

**1**

You could distance yourself from anything and anyone at this one, very moment...

_**Synchronization initiated.** _

And then your eyes jolted open.

* * *

You awoke to the infamous Hall of Doors. The endless hallway was a mind-numbing sight with its infinite doors and length. The walls were uniform in their pristine, white color, yet the doors were all unique.

Different.

All doors lead to them, your fellow archivers had joked with you.

‘Them’ being the previous holder of the EV.

You grasped the golden knob of the door after taking several steps forward and turning right.

This was the one.

With a twist, you turned the doorknob and pushed. Your feet stepped forward one by one-

And then you fell.

Down and down until you could barely think.

* * *

 The water rippled beneath your feet with every step you took. Your very reflection became distorted, and you looked curiously down.

It was you… and a man?

 _It’s just a memory_ , you thought. A lost one at that. It had most likely had been misplaced after some damage to the cybernetics. But that didn’t stop you from turning to look back at the man. He was familiar and memorable in all senses of the word.

The black coat fitted with contrasting crimson trim and the rifle he had slung over his shoulder told you enough about him and what exactly you were getting yourself into.

A Militant Evie, he was.

If you hadn’t known that you were being recorded, then you would have cursed at that very moment. Violet had told your station that there would be no Military EVs for at least a month.  
A standard archiver’s civilian-grade EV wasn’t designed to handle the format a Military-grade EV put its data and memories in.

You took a breath, trying to gain a stable mind. A steady mind meant a sane one, you thought. You could only hope that your colleagues would fare better if not the same as you.  
With that in mind, you took a step forward into the darkness. A sickening crack could be heard as you winced at the very sound. As if heralded by the sign, a burning house crackled to life in the darkness.

A memory in the Void.

Strange was one word to describe what you thought of it. But then again, everything in this very situation fitted the very word.

_“Save him.”_

You froze in your tracks. The ripples in the water slowing as you stopped. No, you thought.

Please no.

As if possessed, you suddenly felt the urge to run into the house. A searing feeling roared and simmered all at once in your chest, and you gasped at the sensation. You had only heard of this happening to one such person. And when that happened, it was all too late. They had never came back.You tried to stop it. You really did. But your body betrayed you as your trembling feet stepped forward one by one.

Suddenly, the house was closer and closer.

Until you could feel the searing heat of the hungry flames lick at your skin. Your heart raced with every breath you took, and you knew that your vitals were spiking to whoever was reading the monitor.

 _“Save him.”_ That voice said again with the same accent. Irish, if you were correct. Something inside of you felt loose and detached almost. Your thoughts swaying to minuscule details, and you knew that this place, the EV, was trying to influence you.

No, you corrected yourself. Entrap was a better word for it.

The door faced you in its sickening temptation to just open it with a twist of the wrist. You found yourself outstretching a hand in the trance you were aware of but just couldn’t resist.

 _So this is what it is like_ , you thought, To be in the place of the Initiate.

Your eyes closed as your hand grasped the heated metal of the doorknob before twisting it and pushing forward. The door cracked open, and you opened your eyes only to see hungry flames lick and devour anything in its path.

This time you moved forward on your volition and dashed to whatever the Urge was pulling you towards. A man laid prone on the floor with flames licking at his clothing and burns scarring his marred skin. You could have sworn your heart was in your throat as you rushed to the man.

 _ **Monro**_ , the word-no _name_ echoed in your mind. Or was it yours anymore? You pondered this numbly as you hauled the man across the floor to the door. A shorter distance, you briefly noted. A groan pierced through the chaos that surrounded you and your companion, and you tugged the man’s robes one last time.

His feet were out the door, and you collapsed onto your knees, panting. You turned your head to see the man’s motionless body. He wasn’t breathing.

 _He’s dead_ , you thought morbidly.

Something inside of you felt drained and vulnerable. A stinging sensation was felt in your eyes, to which you paused in your thoughts at. A hand was numbly brought up to your cheeks.

You were crying.

The salty, wet droplets that were your tears felt cool against your skin. You could have sworn that you saw dark smoke move almost unnaturally towards you and brush gently against your cheek. If you didn’t know better-because, this was a memory-you would have thought it was a show of affection.

You breathed in and out, your heartbeat going steadier and steadier until you felt calm... detached-like you should be.

The simmering embers of the fire remained in front of you like the charred remains of the house laid there as a reminder.The myriad of emotions you felt at the ashes and the corpse of the man-Monro-was foreign and familiar in a horrifying, contradicting way.

 _Process_ , you reminded yourself. You needed to process, not feel.

These memories-emotions-were, not yours. They were of a man long since dead and gone.

You looked towards the east where you knew a door would be.

And like the good, little archiver you were, you carried on into the Void with ripples distorting your very being with every single step you took.

* * *

You could have been walking for hours, days, or even months in realtime in the Void. You didn’t know and couldn’t bring yourself to care.

Get to the door, and make your way to the Core.

Signal and wait for extraction.

Getting the Core was all that mattered. It was your duty as an archiver, and you would complete it.

Your foot nudged something in front of you, and you stopped abruptly. You looked up to see your reflection. It stared back at you with the same numbness in its gaze as you held. Apathy was shown in those golden eyes until they closed as its lips spread apart in a grotesque smile.

This was not your reflection.

It reached out to you and outstretched its hand until its fingertips just barely made it out of the mirror. Mirroring your “counterpart,” you too outstretched your hand, and a finger tapped the glass once, twice, and thrice.

Each tap like a blow to the glass.

Silent, the mirror shattered in front of you and the doppelganger let out one horrific screech before it too broke. Brushing the glass aside, you revealed a door beneath all the shards.

“I was right,” you murmured to yourself. It was here. You hadn’t had experience with Militant Evies before, only heard stories about them, in fact. But there was one notable thing in the stories you heard of archivers archiving the EVs of Militant Evies.

Never show fear.

And so you wouldn’t show fear.

No matter what.

The door let out an eerie groan as it creaked open, almost as if in a challenge to your promise.

“Well, that isn’t ominous at all,” you said blankly.

Just like the metal door of that burning house, you felt a pull to open it.

This time, you grasped the doorknob quickly and shoved the door open. There was the piercing sound of something just cracking, and you covered your eyes with your arm as the light became ever so more blinding.

Dying out as unexpectedly and shortly as it came, the light dimmed, and you blinked at the sudden change.  
Your very surroundings had changed as the endless Void was replaced with a bustling city speaking a variety of languages in hushed tones along with the merchants hollering loudly from their stalls.

A large sound-was that a church bell?- resounded through the city to which many-faceless though-turned their attention towards. It was a bright atmosphere in the busy hustling and sheer vibrancy the very city itself held.

But you tasted something bitter and sickening in its taste. The very flavor made your face twist in a grimace and bile crept up in your throat.

 _Ash_ , you thought.

If someone could ever taste death itself, it would taste like ash. Something inside of you- _no him, you corrected. Because this was his memory_ -just wilted and your stomach sank.

With that in mind, you carried on with sneakers scuffing against the concrete with every rather reluctant step you took. A local brushed by you while murmuring in what you could only tell as Portuguese.

“Portugal?” you asked yourself loudly over the noise of the crowd.

As if answering your question, the oh so conveniently placed sign over by the shop across the street proclaimed the name of the city.

Lisbon.

The name nagged at you like an insistent gnat. That name was familiar, but it was like grasping air or smoke. You could try and reach for it all you want, but in the end, it was fruitless.

You sighed in the midst of your thoughts. You were only trying to delay the inevitable, as you knew what was to come. Militant Evies, as taught in the case of forceful interrogation and hacking into the EV, normally had a barrier-a guardian for some-that would guard the Core.

This was why Militant EVs were, as Layla would say ‘a bitch to archive.’

You were close to the Core. Oh, you knew that. But the only question who or rather what the obstacle would be.

But as you said before, there was no use in delaying the inevitable. No one would pull you out, now. Not until you retrieved the Core, that is.

There was a saying among archivers that had saved you and countless other many times before.

‘When in doubt, follow their instincts.’

Because, it was their memories, after all. Not yours, as you were the intruder, the invader digging into layers of memories to find the one thing that makes the memories live. The barriers obscuring your way was only a defense mechanism.

Sighing, you closed your eyes and just listened. There was a light tug in the direction to the west, and without looking, you followed that pull.

And kept walking, one step at a time.

* * *

Just like that time in the Void, the time you just walked could have been hours.

You didn’t know.

All that you knew at that very moment was that you were in front of a church. The ugly, disgusting taste of ash in your mouth grew thicker.

The doors of the church were heavy, and the beautiful sound of voices singing softly in unison could be heard from the other side. You laid a palm against the thick, dense wood and knew this was it.

It was in there.

You could just feel it.

Opening your eyes, your hands pushed open the door.You carried yourself forward with every step hurting. The ache in your chest yawned and hurt like a reopened scar.

“It’s to be expected,” you told yourself before coming to a stop at the back of the church. You brought a hand to your chest, clenching the fabric together tightly.

_**It hurts.** _

The thought resounded almost as if it was thought simultaneously by two voices and not just one. You took one last step forward, and something slid into place. The floor beneath you shuddered briefly before the floor groaned as it sank into the ground.

You went down and down until it stopped suddenly.

_**It was a passageway.** _

You noted as you walked through it, going down the steps of the stairs that descended deeper and deeper.

The second stairs that led downward came to an end, to which you paused at. There was something across the gap but how would-

Once again, you were caught off guard when stones came to form a path across the gap. Not looking downward, you stepped carefully onto the formed walkway.

Each step once again reopening a scar you didn’t know you had until you came to a stop at the pedestal. It was alien, almost, in its appearance. The glowing patterns on the obelisk behind it were exotic and terrifying simultaneously. But the thing in front of it...well that was what truly held your attention.

_The Core._

It was captivating in every sense of the word.

Mesmerized and fearless, your hands reached out to touch The Core-

 _“Are you sure, lass?”_ You froze in your movements, as your eyes widened.

**It was him.**

“You,” the word spilled out of your lips before you could stop it. You gritted your teeth as you knew that you had just made a mistake. Don’t talk to them had been one of the few rules in archiving.  
And you had just broken it.

“You aren’t real,” you said aloud, reassuring yourself.

He wasn’t real.

They never were, as everyone told you countless of times.

 _“Do you believe them?”_ Your eyes were closed shut despite your reassurances to yourself. Something airy and cold to the point of almost hurting lightly put pressure on your chin, as if motioning for you to tilt your face up, _“And do try not to lie.”_

“...No,” you admitted. But you oh so desperately wanted to say yes to the apparition’s question.

 _“Good girl.”_ You could have sworn that he smiled as he said those two words. But you wouldn’t know with your eyes still shut.

 _Not real_ , you repeated to yourself.

 _“It’s captivating, isn’t it?”_ You found yourself nodding, _“The forbidden fruit always is that way. Enchanting yet sinful.”_

You stood still as you listened to the ravings of a madman’s memory.

 _“Well, go on.”_ He crooned almost. His voice was closer, this time. The taste of ash weighed heavy in your mouth, _“I know you want to, lass.”_

Your hands had gone to lay at your side as he talked. He would be gone once you touched the Core.

And so would this world-memory- around you.

Your hands reached out, and your fingertips brushed against the Core’s metallic surface. Your hands grasped the object with care, and at that very moment you couldn’t help but notice the taste in your mouth.

The taste was disgusting and thick like sludge, and your breathing felt heavy. You felt something trickle from your mouth and onto your chin.

Moving a hand away from the Core, a finger brushed against the substance, and you looked down.

It was ash.

And it was ash that trickled through your frozen hand as the Core disappeared.

“Forbidden fruit,” he said knowingly.

As you knelt there gasping for air through the sludge of ash in your lungs, you couldn’t help but laugh in the recesses of your mind.

 _So this was the barrier_ , you thought.

_How original._

The earth shuddered and groaned in terror beneath and above you, and chunks of debris fell around you.

Your eyes were open when you saw him, for the first time.

He was a dark-eyed man with brown hair tied back, a scar over one eye, and an apathetic smile. His attire consisted of a double-breasted coat in military style, fitted with contrasting crimson trim. A cross-belt comprising two belts had secured a rifle slung across his back.

 _“I warned you,”_ He said nonchalantly as he knelt down beside you. His coat parted lightly, and his rifle shifted with the movement.

“I know.”

 _“Why, then?”_ Curiosity was evident in his voice as his eyes-dark they were, not of molten gold-stared back at you.

“Duty. The mission is what matters.” It was odd. When you talked to him, it was as if there was no sludge hindering your ability to breath.

 _“I must say,”_ He started with a smile laced with grim amusement like poison gracing his lips, _“You are interesting, not like the others,”_ he added.

“You don’t exist.” You tried to remind yourself. He wasn’t real. But then why wasn’t he already gone? After all, the Core was gone.

 _“Oh, your words do hurt.”_ He said almost mockingly before pausing with his head tilted to the side, _“Your colleagues want you back apparently.”_

At this point, you couldn’t bring yourself to be horrified as you felt something inside of you crumbling away. You closed your eyes and didn’t dare open them.

Not when he began to lean towards you, close enough to whisper in your ear, _“Let’s meet again, lass.”_ His tone playful with an apathetic undertone, if such a thing was possible.

When you opened your eyes, milky white liquid surrounded you, and you breathed in through the mask. The bright, fluorescent lights glared at you as you blinked blearily at them.

“Welcome back, numbskull.”


	18. Fractured [Shay Cormac x Fem!Reader x Arno Dorian]

They had come to you, asking for you to go through another subject’s memories. This time, it was raw, unfiltered-untainted-memories that were waiting to be analyzed.

Despite the blatant fact of you having been held at gunpoint by the very same people, you only silently choked back that little truth and agreed readily.

Because, after all, you had learned only one simple thing from both your time at Abstergo Entertainment and analyzing Shay Cormac’s memories:

Survive.

* * *

The workstation was already prepared and memories transferred through a secure drive-not cloud after what happened last time. The set was unfamiliar with the chair being more practical and less professional in its design. The headset seemed to be more innovative and less focused on a relaxed way of going about the memories, unlike the Helix workstation in Montreal.

You had expected this though.

“We’ll need you to meet your designated physiatrist on a weekly basis. After all, the subject’s memories have been known to be… problematic,” One of the technicians commented with a wary glance at you. Scrutinizing and suspicious almost in his stare.

“His memories have made turncoats out of newbies.” A familiar, blunt voice announced. You bit back a sigh at the sound of her voice. Out of all people-

“Long time no see, numbskull.”

-it had to be her.

“You best not turn, numbskull,” Violet stated with dark eyes staring at you, “I can’t even imagine the paperwork after putting you down.” Something inside you made you chuckle darkly at that. You barely managed to hold it in.

_Put you down_ , like a mad dog at a shelter.

* * *

_The weight of the rifle pressed against your back as you leaned against the wall. Your eyes were fixed on the hooded figure in the distance as a pigeon made its way towards them-_

You coughed harshly, trying to dispel the memory.

It’s getting worse, you noted with growing dread. The monthly meetings with the psychiatrist you had as a ‘favored’ Helix analyst did not help in the slightest. Although, you not telling them even an inkling of the truth most likely played a part in that.

You just couldn’t trust them. Not now, not ever.

_Traitortraitorbetrayedbetrayedmurderertraitor-_

You breathed in shakily, the string of words that kept on repeating in your mind being disrupted in the hesitant motion. At the very least, you didn’t have any visual hallucinations, unlike the worst cases of the Bleeding Effect.

“I’m fine,” you said out loud to sterile white walls and a building filled with people who  _didn’t care_.

Yes, you were fine.

You would be okay.

* * *

As the technicians busied themselves, you noticed the IV stand next to you. It was just another sign of the upping of stakes here.

If you wanted to be alive, then you needed to be useful.

Abstergo- _the Templars_ \- don’t want a broken tool, least of all a useless one.

Whatever you felt going through the subject’s memories would just be choked back, even if you had to gag on it.

_Blood covered your hands and dripped down onto the floor. Your eyes were closed shut as your head rested against the cold surface of the sink’s rim. You took one shaky breath and then another._

_Just breathe-_

_You choked on your own spit just as you were about to breathe when something akin to a hot punch slammed into your back._

_Just as something wet-bloodbloodblood- dripped down onto your back, you felt weightless-almost high-for a fraction of a second._

_And then you fell._

Yes, you would choke on it…

“Midazolam administered.”

“Genetic sequencing complete.”

-But eventually- _one_ _moment, one day_ \- you would breathe.

These were your last thoughts before you felt a weight pull you down.

Not putting up the slightest of resistance, you let yourself go.

And so you fell, down and down.

* * *

_-She’s crashing. Administer 5 ml of Flumazenil-_

_It was odd_ , you noted numbly. What you felt was like a presence settling itself somewhere deep inside you. It was almost peaceful for a quick moment before a rush of nausea washed over your being.

_**Get out** _

And you tried. But, alas, you couldn’t claw yourself out of your own flesh and bones. Despite how much of it was undeniably yours, you couldn’t help but feel the obvious wrongness of it all.

A rush of emotions filled you.  _Hatred_ ,  _anger_ , and, most of all,  _disgust_.

_**nononoIhateyouyoukilledhimI’llkillyougetoutgetoutgetoutGeOuT-** _

_-Subject is seizing. Hold her down-_

And then it just stopped. It was like the eye of a violent storm, a moment of peace in a calamity.

You stopped falling.

* * *

You took one desperate gasp of air after another. Just keep breathing, you kept on telling yourself. You bit back the instinct to gag on the air you inhaled it as it was just disgustingly filled to the brim with gunpowder, blood, and tobacco.

Even your sight betrayed you- _traitortraitortraitor_ \- as sterile white walls melded into a snowy landscape with a splotch of blood spreading out like a sickening blooming flower with crimson fanning out.

Your ears perked at the sound of boots crunching against fresh, fallen snow. You could just barely hear a hot breath being exhaled into the icy air in comparison to that of its much more labored companion.

_Hunterhunterhunter-_

The string of words was halted by the odd hallucination-because it could be nothing else-of boots walking towards you and the breathing coming closer. Your breathing grew labored as your heart beat faster and faster.

_Nononononono-_

_**“Breathe, lass.”** _

“No,” you gasped out with denial dripping from your voice.

Like a wolf looming over its trapped prey, Shay Cormac  _smiled_.

And then you heard the sound of a blade-an  _axe_ \- being dragged your way only made your heart sink. You couldn’t even deny it anymore.

_**“Bonjour.”** _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y’all are probably getting tired of me doing this sort of story, but I just can’t help myself at times. Feel free to request or comment if you would like the second part for this or just something different. Well, thanks for reading!


	19. Fractured Part II

Crimson liquid trickled along your forearm and onto your fingers. The substance bathed your hands as you listened to your superior go through with the meeting.

_Crimson like the cross, like the blood you-they-spilled, like her hair-_

Your ears picked up some words as you mainly focused on the red substances covering your skin. _Assassin Hunter_. _Master Templar_. _**Purge.**_

Your shoulders stiffened at the last word-Purge-like the word 'cleanse.' That one word struck a chord in you.

You wanted to purge any trace of _**them**_ inside of you.

 _Because_ , you thought with tiredness and indifference all rolled up into one ball of misery.

You were _bleeding_ because of _**them**_. Your insides grotesquely ripped and shredded by the glass shards of them embedded inside of you, as they oozed onto your hands.

Your eyes strayed to Juhani Otso Berg as he preached to his team.

_**Purge** , **purge** , and **purge**._

_**Again** and **again** and-_

" _Again_." An accented voice drawled out, boredom bleeding into his voice. The fool looked at you with golden eyes that reminded you of the gold that the adventurers of the old had lusted after and conquered for.

It was the eyes of Arno Dorian that terrified you.

After all, they could persuade and drive you.

Again, a voice whispered into your ear while you laid on the ground. You didn't want to get up.

(He did.)

" _He's the villain_ ," Arno Dorian remarked with lips curled up painfully in a smile. It hurt just to look at the man- _or_ _was he a specter_. Like stepping on the shattered glass on the tile floor of the bathroom, you felt each and every word- _glance and action_ \- of his cut into you.

" _Don't you get it?_ " He persisted with that vile feeling that clung to him like a leech. You knew very well what he hated. It wasn't another person, no. It was something else that made Arno Dorian into the creature before you.

You ignored his words, shaking off his presence as you gave no physical indication that you saw him. But he always knew nonetheless.

_(They're under your skin, after all.)  
_

* * *

A burning sensation clawed at your chest as you found yourself in the center of his sin. Flames rose higher and licked at the sky as you looked into the distance. The figure, a lone man, dashing across the streets alongside the frantic good people of Lisbon.  


"You did this," you said to the flames. You could have sworn you saw them recoil at your words.

" _We all did._ " His voice greeted your ears, accented and amused as ever. You bothered to turn around and see dark eyes glaring down at you. The crimson cross at the center of the crossbelts strapped across his chest glinted in the light of the flames.

" _All of us are the villains in one's story, after all._ "

" _You wanted to hurt me_ ," Shay Cormac said bluntly with a ghost of a chuckle accompanying his words. It must have been amusing to him. Oh, the little _**sheep**_ was trying to hurt the big bad _**wolf**_ , " _But you can't_." he stepped closer.

"Why?" the word spilling off your lips as you knew where this was going. Only this would set you free from the personal hell. Because, in this memory, hell had a name and it was called Lisbon.

Warm hands marred with calluses and scars gripped the sides of your head tightly. His thumb lightly brushed against the skin of your cheek, dangerously close to your eye. His hands forced your head up just as you tried looked down in something akin to defiance.

_**Look at me.** _

His pupils were blown out and wide, nearly encompassing the whites of his eyes. The sight was almost demonic really. The wolfish smile with teeth and glaring pitch black eyes forced you down.

_(Their eyes never light up. They just get darker and darker until you couldn't see the light.)_

" _You are weak_ ," Shay Cormac hissed into the air, heat from his being bleeding into your ear and searing the sensitive skin. You recoiled at the sensation, and your body jerked only for his hands to hold you steady.

" _But_ ," his voice lowered into a fevered murmur, " _I will make you strong, lass_." His grip tightened and the edges of your vision melted away into the black expanse with every second.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, everyone! It's been awhile but I haven't abandoned this work nor planning on doing so. I just went through a rather difficult time due to two family emergencies happening on both sides of my family with my now passed away grandfather dying back then and my uncle suddenly passing away. I thought I could write while I was up there with my grandfather but I just couldn't bring myself to focus. I'm sorry for the delay, but I am back now and writing more for this work if some of you happen to enjoy it or when I get ideas for it. Also, I am rusty right now in writing this kind of stuff so I would love to get some requests if it isn't too much to ask for. 
> 
> As for this chapter, I know that this is probably a different style or way of going about things than previous chapters. I wanted to try something new that went deeper into the characters. The third chapter will explain things a bit more and I will elaborate in the next part's author's note. If you have any questions or are confused, feel free to ask in the comments. 
> 
> Well, as always, I'm really thankful to have readers actually read my odd, bizarre, and disjointed writings!


	20. reap what you sow | Soudier

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A fit of shock and dissociation by the Analyst sends the subject into a mad fit of his own.

The past and present melted into one another as the crumbled halls were once again towering pillars. Flames became extinguished and the air stilled into a deadly quiet.

You only blinked away the dust likely covering your eyes. This dissociation was what lifted the steadily increasing pressure on your chest, constricting and tightening around your ribs.

The smell of gunpowder, wine, and laudanum seeped into the room as your eyes watered. Your eyes tried to focus on the tendrils of smoke materializing into the air, distinguished by the separation of three colors.

_ Blue  _ from the burnt curtains pooled on the floor.

_ White _ from the shattered remains of the bust.

_ Crimson _ from the blood staining the marble floors.

All merging into one coherent being.

Arno Victor Dorian.

He cast an idle eye at the ruined bust of Napoleon Bonaparte. Napoleon’s nose was broken into a jagged edge along with his left eye’s pupil obliterated into a gaping hole. His lips spread into an amused smile as he chuckled to himself.

_ “One always did reckon to tell him that he may require a nose graft.” _ The jest fell on deaf ears as you blinked rather dumbly. Did he-

_ “I knew him,” _ the morose observer sighed into the air.  _ Ah _ , you thought. There it was, the sullen character and his mad rambling.

The hint of light gleaming through the opened roof caught his eyes and turned them into a deep amber,  _ “I saved his life countless times. They wanted to show the spectacle of his head rolling down the steps of Tuileries or his innards scattered across the streets.” _

He stopped them all, you knew that much. The memories melted into one another after your little session experimenting with Midazolam. Everything had felt like a fever dream, as the redeemed Arno you saw in Franciade still felt as if he was the true one. 

Arno Victor Dorian’s lips curled up into that of a bitter grin. His eyes caught a dark glint as he approached you with his golden aiguillettes swaying along with the delicate braid hanging off his shoulder.

 _“Instead, they laid into my hands the charred remains of a child.”_ _Marianne_ _Peusol_ , the name a whisper in the depths of your mind. You swallowed back the surging tides of something- _guilt, grief, disgust_ \- with barely a wince. The word said with such disgust that you wondered to whom was his disgust directed at.

You coul- no  _ would  _ detach yourself from him. He was only a specter haunting your present when belonged in his past. Piece by piece would you shove these emotions to the corner, even if that resulted in his presence becoming stronger and stronger.

_ “I saved him,” _ Arno Victor Dorian once again sighed into the air with a gesture to the broken bust of the man on the ground,  _ “And millions died with his actions-no his ambition.” _

His boots crushed a broken remain of the statue into dust as he came closer with each and every step.

_ “Do I regret it?” _ The question he questioned into the air, a rather mocking bite to it. His footsteps stopped as you stared up at him with the sharp pain in your chest.

_ Trapped. _

You felt rough leather brush a strand of hair from your face in a mocking caress. Dark brown eyes-no longer that of amber, stared into you. You didn’t dare look much elsewhere as your eyes traced the dark line of the scar spanning across his face.

_ “I didn’t regret it.” _

“Y-” The pressure weighing against your chest was unbearable as your body was wracked with shuddering coughs. A firm hand grasped your shoulder, steadying you with care.

_ “History must repeat itself, ma chèrie.” _ He continued on his voice calmer this time around.

_ “You saved her life,” _ Arno Dorian noted aloud with interest sparked in his eyes. The dawning horror crept up on you like an old friend.

Nonononono-

_ “Réveille-toi. Ce n'est pas un rêve.” _

The same gloved hand that caressed your face had lingered and now grasped your neck firmly. Arno Dorian smiled above you before leaning down with hot air accompanying the words hissed into your ear.

_ “On récolte ce que l'on sème.” _

**_You reap what you sow._ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those wondering what in the world they just read, this is a small one-shot in an AU I call 'Soudier', where Arno Dorian didn't return to the Brotherhood and accepted Napoleon's offer to become a soldier. Essentially, Arno served in the Napoleonic Wars which drastically changed several aspects of his character. As to why Arno chose differently, I'll be writing different snippets of this AU from the Analyst's perspective to give some explanation as to why. Anyways, I would also like to address the mess the Analyst and Arno were in the one-shot. It was actually on-purpose. The Analyst was trapped under rubble in a museum that got bombed by 'her', which sent the Analyst into a tremulous state. This is turn affected Arno as I implied in the summary. 
> 
> Putting aside that reason, this one-shot was still a mess. Anyways, I apologize for the long period of inactivity. Also, I would like to say that I won't ever be truly abandoning Twisted Helix. I write chapters for this story based on the inspiration/ideas I get as well as requests (which are open if anyone happens to be interested). 
> 
> As always, thank you for reading!


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